


burning out but always tethered

by rexspiravit



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Arguing, Dom/sub Undertones, Kinda, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Makeup Sex, Paranormal Investigators, Sex Toys, Sexual Experimentation, Shane Being an Asshole, Smut, but it all works out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28228722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexspiravit/pseuds/rexspiravit
Summary: It's been a while since Shane had last experimented with anything of this sort, not because it didn't feel good, but because it was time consuming, exhausting, and on top of all, he wasn't as good at finding the place and time as the fidgety mess of a guy staring at him from the other side of the room like a whipped puppy.aka the one in which ryan pisses shane off and simultaneously signs up for a wild ride
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	burning out but always tethered

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first ever ryan and shane fic and i'm excited to be here :^) still figuring things out, hope y'all like it!
> 
> special thanks and big hugs to pop for being the sweetest beta <3

Their boundaries are marked out pretty clear. Or more so, it's what Shane chose to believe, ever since they first began toying with the idea of letting their curiosities go beyond the walls of their office. It's long been established that there were differences in spiritual beliefs between the two of them, that being one of the very few topics their opinions differed in. It was never an issue for them, and the amount of compliments they received regarding the chemistry between them had surpassed dozens many years ago. 

It always worked, almost miraculously. Shane, despite never being eager to express it, was grateful for Ryan's determination to push him out of his comfort zone and pick up opportunities that he himself would otherwise never touch. Ryan, on the other hand, got a kick out of every instance of Shane entertaining the idea of demons and lost souls actually existing among humans. It always worked. Almost. It almost always worked. 

It sometimes seemed strange to him that Ryan has had far fewer bad days at work than he has. Even in times when his soul was at the brink of leaving his body, Ryan's enthusiasm for whatever was contributing to ripping his soul out could never be curbed. Shane has found him terrified and panic-stricken before, but nothing could not be fixed by an offer of food or a pat on the back. Shane knew how to handle Ryan. He had much more difficulty handling himself. 

* * * 

The place they're investigating makes Shane, who usually carries indifference with him everywhere they go as an obligatory accessory, feel sick. Only a messed up person would feel fully comfortable walking around an abandoned lunatic asylum with an ugly backstory, he thinks to himself, as an attempt to understand the way his body is reacting to the environment. Ryan babbles to himself in the meantime, thinking he's describing something to Shane. None of the trivia Ryan is serving him gets through his skull. The pulsing of his headache successfully keeps information locked outside of his mind. 

Long story short, he feels awful. Possibly worse than he ever has during any of their investigations, hence the abnormal thoughts of people dying in this place occupying his mind. Regardless of his mood, he doesn't want to ruin anything for Ryan, so he chooses to suck it up and be dragged along the hallways. The mix of mold scent and dust particles feels more potent now that he ever cared to acknowledge, swirling around in his throat. Minutes pass slowly. 

The place is dead quiet, yet Ryan keeps stopping every once in a while, startled by a creak or a sound that Shane swears only he is able to hear. He finds it endearing that Ryan is so determined to walk out of here with any evidence that he's almost making himself hear things that are not actually audible. Contently watching Ryan slowly lose his sanity almost makes him forget that his own sanity is hanging by a thread today. 

The sudden explosion of noise coming from the spirit box reminds him of his headache. It always catches him off guard, but it sounds more excruciating when his head is pounding. 

Shane grunts, almost bumping into Ryan when he suddenly stops in the middle of the barely lit hallway. "Jesus, man. Warn a guy next time, will ya?" 

"Yeah, sorry about that. Something about this area just," Ryan pauses when the spirit box spits out something that sounds like a word, but isn't quite there, "feels strange." 

"It's a mental asylum, I would be more surprised if nothing in here felt strange to you." 

Everything falls silent between the two of them, except for the intolerable crackling of the device in Ryan's hand, along with an occasional syllable or two in between the noises. Shane's head is still pounding and Ryan isn't giving up, asking more questions that receive no answers. It feels like a vicious circle. 

"Alright, you clearly don't want to talk to us, so I'm gonna give you ten more seconds and then your only chance is gone. Better hurry up if you have anything important to say." 

The spirit box is merciless, spitting out more noise that sounds too much like words in Ryan's mind, making him hesitate before saying his final goodbyes to the reticent ghosts and turning it off, much to Shane's delight. 

"Tough crowd today, huh," Shane says absent-mindedly and huffs out a laugh at his own remark. Ryan laughs too, the sound trembling in his throat. 

"I feel like we should go back to the canteen. Just for a few more minutes, I don't think I'm done with it," he announces, tucking the tiny torture device into the back pocket of his pants. 

Shane groans, all of his hopes of returning to their car melting away. "Come on, man. We've been here for three hours, you're not bringing anything out of here. All of the advertisements for this place are probably baloney," he says, throwing his hands up to better accentuate his own annoyance. 

"Oh, shut up, everything is baloney to you. You wouldn't believe if a ghost ripped your heart out of your chest." 

Shane really isn't in the mood for content-worthy bickering, but he knows Ryan isn't going to give up his plans easily. No matter how dim the light around them is, no matter how much the tones of Ryan's skin are merging with the whites and greys of his teeth and eyes in the dark, Shane still knows there's a spark of thrill in those dilated pupils of his. He knows this side of Ryan and usually doesn't mind it but today- 

Today it might just make him lose his mind. 

"Frankly, if that happened right now, I would be exhilarated," Shane says, leaning just a little closer to Ryan's face. There's not a single hint of mood change there. "This place is making my brain sizzle." 

Ryan's mouth hangs open for a split second and his eyes search for something to fall upon that isn't Shane. Eventually, their gazes meet anyway and it makes Ryan shiver. "Just a few more minutes in the canteen, then we're outta here," his voice trembles as it lands on the last words. "Let's go." 

A pat on the shoulder which Ryan sells Shane as a form of encouragement makes his breath hitch in his throat. He watches Ryan absently as he walks past him in the direction they came from, with no intention of turning around. Feeling defeated, Shane catches up with him, responding to his pat from earlier with a nudge in the ribs. Ryan nearly trips, only Shane's hand pressed firlmy to his chest stopping him in his tracks. 

"You little fucker, if a ghost doesn't grab you by the throat and drag your little ass into the ceiling in that canteen, then I will." 

Ryan chuckles, pushing his hand out of the way. "Yeah, yeah, right. Keep your flashlight up, big guy." 

At this time, Ryan doesn't know it yet, but he's going to pay for this. And payment, as most treats do, may come as a surprise. 

* * * 

Half an hour. What Ryan promised would be a few minutes turned into an additional half an hour of the spirit box crackling and sputtering in Ryan's hand and Shane watching silently while leaning against a dirty wall. 

When they get back to their car, Shane doesn't speak, and neither does Ryan. Shane rests his head on the window and presses a hand to his forehead with a deep sigh, and that's enough of a sign for Ryan to know that he doesn't want to be spoken to. 

Not many of their rides back from investigations are silent, and the majority of the ones which happen to be silent are aftermaths of Ryan's near-panic attack experiences, when he needs time to rearrange his thoughts. This time, he is the one wishing for words to fill up the uncomfortable, silent holes between the two of them. 

Ryan shifts gears and the car bucks. He curses under his breath and for a moment, Shane considers speaking up, perhaps to tell him to take it easy, but he's too exhausted to open his mouth. Besides, he wants the discomfort of silence to force Ryan to do the one thing he often forgets to do – he wants Ryan to think. 

The silent treatment is clearly working in Shane's favor, because Ryan keeps shifting and fidgeting in the driver's seat, obviously antsy. Combined with Shane's silence and surface-level cool, it's teetering on the edge of perfect punishment, and would do the job, if only his half delirious mind wasn't already overrun by more interesting possibilities. 

* * * 

Once they arrive at their motel, a charming place considering the general standard, Shane steps out of the car as quickly as possible and leaves Ryan inside with the engine still on. He takes his sweet time pulling both his own, as well as Ryan's bags from the trunk and hangs them over his shoulder to make the trip to their room easier. The sound of the trunk shutting closed almost syncs up with the door that Ryan closes, finally out of the car as well. 

They look at each other and stay where they are, as if both expecting the other to speak up. 

"Are you mad at me?" Ryan asks quietly. His hands are drawn up to his chest and fingers moving restlessly while the stretch of silence after his question expands uncomfortably. 

"Holding two heavy bags is what I am," Shane responds rather insipidly. "Mind opening the door for me?" 

Ryan looks away. "Yeah, no. I got it." 

The lady at the reception desk assigns them a small room by the number of 73. The number on the door is almost completely rubbed off, save for the bottom of the digits. There's a faint scent of artificial flowers in the air that surrounds them as soon as they open the door and it's a pleasant change after hours of inhaling the cornucopia of smells attached to an abandoned building. 

The single bed in the middle of the room might prove itself to be an issue later, but they still have no trouble choosing their sides, Ryan instinctively plopping down on the left and Shane placing their bags on the right. The bed cracks under the weight once Shane sits down on his side and pulls his phone out almost instantly. 

He doesn't pay much attention to Ryan, but can still easily see him fumbling with his bag out of the corner of his eye. Now is not the time to talk, and Ryan seems to understand that as well. He escapes the unbearable silence and heavy, heavy tension by grabbing a pile of clean clothes and colorful bottles to then head to the bathroom. As soon as the water starts running, Shane's thoughts become liquid as well, flowing through his head in waves. 

He doesn't know exactly where he's heading with all of this. Silence is an effective form of punishment, because Ryan never stops talking, not even in his sleep, when he's mumbling or making faint noise that makes the hair on Shane's arms stand on end. But he wonders if this is enough, if a couple hours of silence before one of them drifts off into sleep is enough to get his point across. He wonders, when he wakes up tomorrow, will they talk as if nothing happened? Will Ryan's behavior continue evoking the intense emotion inside of him that it shouldn't? Will they ever speak of this again, and will Ryan learn anything at all? 

The water is still running, and his thoughts are not slowing down, either. Something needs to be done in order for him to get rid of the tension the both of them had managed to create. He acknowledges his own input but chooses to focus on something else and soon enough, his hands are buried deep inside of Ryan's bag, rummaging blindly, inspecting every single pocket he identifies. He would never do this any other day, wouldn’t gain anything from looking through Ryan's personal belongings, but today is different, today he isn't thinking straight and today, Ryan gets to pay. 

His hand grasps something lengthy and smooth. Shane scoots closer and takes a quick peek inside one of the side pockets of the bag before pulling out what may be just the right tool for the game they're about to play. His thumb accidentally grazes over the button near the bottom and the ominous, black toy vibrates in his hand, bringing an amused grunt out his throat. He had figured a long time ago that Ryan most likely carries at least one toy of this sort on him at all times, but has never heard or seen one in use. With both of them often busy driving from one place to another, exhausted from recording and editing and emotionally drained, there were never enough opportunities for them to be as close as they would wish. 

A finding as precious as this makes his curiosity grow more intense, so he keeps digging in the same pocket it came from. Luckily for him, there's a small bottle of lubricant that comes with the toy as a package deal and an idea begins to take shape in his head. He now knows exactly what he's going to do and the only thing left for him is to wait until Ryan returns from the bathroom. 

It doesn't take him long to turn the water off, much to Shane's delight. He pushes Ryan's bag closer to his side of the bed and tucks what he found under his thigh, waiting for the bathroom door to open for what feels like hours. 

Their eyes meet yet again. It's almost as if Ryan was hoping he would find Shane waiting and eager to look right back, and he isn't entirely wrong. He freezes in his spot as soon as he steps out of the bathroom and waits. He simply waits, knowing there is something to wait for. Shane carefully pulls the vibrator from under his thigh and holds it up for Ryan to see, clicking the button that makes it buzz obnoxiously in his hand. 

"You got any more of these, or is this the only one?" he asks, cocking a curious eyebrow. 

His tone is so painfully pointed that it almost pushes all words back down Ryan's throat before he can build the courage to spit them out. "How did you find that?" 

"I had plenty of time to myself while you were in there, y'know," Shane responds. He begins twirling the toy in his hand and looks at it from every possible angle before looking back at Ryan. "Not very large, is it? Looks like somebody can't take much without help." 

Ryan exhales and takes a step forward, reaching out to retrieve his property. "Are you gonna be snappy all night? Is that how it's gonna be?" 

Shane hops off the bed and takes the next step, quickly reducing the distance between the two of them to almost none. Ryan, not having much choice, stumbles backwards. "I don't know, how about you tell me?" Shane asks. 

Ryan puts his hands up, as if preparing to push Shane back, or perhaps to show that he isn't going to get defensive. He considers both options, since he's still unsure as to what is going to happen next. "Look, I'm sorry if I wore you out back there, we spent a long time in that place with not much content and-" 

"Content," Shane butts in and rolls his eyes at the word. "That's all you care about these days, your silly content. I don't wanna hear about it. Now sit down," he orders, pointing at the old looking chair near the bathroom door, standing next to a desk with a knitted table cloth spread neatly on top. 

Ryan doesn't sit. He stares at Shane instead, eyes glassy and wide. "What are y-" 

Shane interrupts him yet again, not because he could sense that Ryan is going to misbehave, but because he wants to get to the point as quick as possible. This isn't only supposed to be a lesson for Ryan, but also what he hopes will be a treat for himself. "I said sit down," he says, voice firmer and more demanding this time. 

Ryan recognizes this tone. Shane only raises his voice like that when he's truly annoyed or displeased with whatever he's doing, and he'd used it enough times in various situations to make him obey. 

This time, Ryan sits. He sits, quiet and feeling small. Shane starts unbuckling his own belt and Ryan feels as though he's still getting smaller, defenseless, almost. He gets his wrists tugged on and can't help but yelp at how sudden and forceful it feels when Shane presses them together. He binds Ryan's hands, using the belt as best as he could with how unforgiving the leather is. It feels rough against Ryan's skin and the tighter it's bound, the more uncomfortable he feels. 

Once Shane is satisfied with the makeshift knot, he tugs at the belt one last time for good measure and lets go of Ryan's hands. "I don't usually do this, but I figured it'd be nice if you got to watch somebody else have a little fun for a change." 

Using the last ounces of courage left inside of him, Ryan groans and leans forward, saying, "You son of a bitch, I can't believe you're doing this." 

Shane is simply unimpressed, so the only thing he does in return is laugh, shortly, a dry, inexpressive sound coming out of his mouth, almost as if on cue. He's already turning around when he hears it and pays it no mind. Instead of getting involved in an exchange of words being tantalizingly proposed to him, he starts looking for something that will nip the unborn quarrel in the bud, and one of Ryan's own shirts hanging out of his bag looks like just the right thing. 

He turns around to face Ryan again and offers him a smile of no value while rolling the shirt up in his hands. Something to keep Ryan's from running his mouth is going to be a cherry on top of all the ideas he'd come up with on the fly. 

Shane approaches him, every step of his unrushed, and crouches down so that their faces are mere inches away. He holds the shirt up and presses the middle against Ryan's lips. He hums with delight, elated to see that Ryan instinctively opens his mouth. It always works like that. Somewhere deep in the back of his head, there's always that desire to be good, and Shane knows that. He'd spent enough time with him to know that. 

Once the shirt is tied around Ryan's head and his ability to talk is restricted, Shane gets back up and looks down at him. "This should help you stay quiet for a bit." 

This is where his own doubts and fears begin to kick in. He wants Ryan to remember all this and look back at it as a form of sick, twisted lesson. However, he rarely gets to be in the center of attention, always making sure to keep his own behavior correct and most of his reactions at bay. Any other day, he would much rather focus on somebody else, mostly on Ryan and his needs, his well-being and his satisfaction. He prefers being in charge not only because it's easy to work with Ryan and shape his reactions like clay, but also due to it being an opportunity to disconnect from himself. 

Now, there is nothing to focus on but himself. There is nothing to feed off of except his own energy, and it doesn't feel right. His only hope is that what he's about to engage in will make it feel right, 

He sits down on the bed and exhales sharply, picking up the toy he'd previously left in the sheets. Ryan is sitting quietly in his spot, chest rising and falling with each labored breath. His eyes don't tell Shane much. 

He unbuttons his pants and pulls at the zipper hastily until it's all the way down and he can tug, tug, tug, exposing more of himself. It's in that moment that it hits him how obscene the entire endeavor is about to become and how cliché it is to do anything sexual at a motel. But the longer he thinks about it, the faster his heart begins to pound and the quicker his blood begins to rush through his veins, collecting in the right spots. 

As if absent-mindedly, he uncaps the tiny bottle of lube and shakes it in his hand, once, twice, then squeezes out what he believes is the right amount of the liquid onto his fingers. He spreads it around with his thumb and drops the bottle back onto the bed without much thought, locking eyes with Ryan one more time. He inhales and exhales deeply and tries his hardest to ignore the way his hands are shaking, pushing his pants further down his legs, until they're all the way down and around his ankles. 

"I hope you know that," Shane begins, shifting in his spot to get into a more comfortable position. "I'm counting on you to stay where you are." 

All that Ryan can do is whine where he's sitting and with that, Shane presses the first finger in. 

It feels more uncomfortable than anything at first. It's been a while since he'd last experimented with anything of this sort, not because it didn't feel good, but because it was time consuming, exhausting, and on top of all, he wasn't as good at finding the place and time as the fidgety mess of a guy staring at him from the other side of the room like a whipped puppy. 

The further he pushes his finger in and the more he thinks about Ryan's devouring eyes fixated on every inch of bare skin he can see, the more enjoyable the sensation becomes. Encouraged by the tiny jolts of pleasure sparkling in his stomach, he adds his middle finger in and lets a stifled noise slip past his lips, Ryan responding with one almost immediately after. Shane takes it as a good sign. 

He pushes his fingers in and out, in and out, a couple more times, and bites down on his lip before slipping his ring finger in, almost surprising himself at this point. The angle at which he's working himself isn't ideal, even bucking his hips isn't helping much, but his fingers are long enough to reach just the right spot. He's trying his hardest not to make too much noise but the room isn't quiet anyway, because Ryan is very vocal regardless of being deprived of his ability to speak. The impatient, high-pitched sounds he's making are almost more exciting than the stimulation Shane is receiving from the tips of his fingers grazing his prostate. 

Knowing that both of them are enjoying this in their own, messed up ways, brings him a sort of relief. It's relieving to see that all of it is working, and it's arousing to know that Ryan is getting impatient. 

He begins testing different angles and speeds, and while he's preparing for the main part of his little show, all Ryan can do is sit and watch from a distance. Knowing that he isn't receiving any pleasure from this certainly crosses some things off the list Shane has subconsciously created in his head. 

Shane finally manages to open his eyes, vision hazy with how ecstatic and full he feels with just three fingers inside himself. He hasn't felt so euphoric in a long time, having not found himself in the position of the receiver many times in the last couple years. He lets his mind float, his thoughts breaking the leashes they are so very familiar with, and recalls the last time he'd felt this good, his memories immediately coming back to Ryan. It's always him. It's been him and him only for so long now. 

He remembers the last bad day he had at work, remembers frustration running through his veins like hot liquid, and he remembers Ryan's doe eyes looking up and his soft lips curved around the tip of his cock, waiting, expecting a command. Now, Shane's mouth is tilted open and lips wet with how hard he's breathing. He looks up and locks eyes with Ryan, who whimpers pathetically as soon the focus returns to him. 

Shane can tell how badly he's craving attention and how much it must hurt to not be given any. He can see how hard Ryan is even from the other side of the room and keeps his gaze pointed towards his tented shorts, locked on his crotch to make sure he doesn't get away with touching himself unpermitted. Checking for any signs of misbehavior from Ryan almost diverts his attention from the fact that his own cock is now fully hard and curved towards his belly. He knows how eager Ryan must feel to be unbound and allowed to touch himself, or carry Shane through his bliss. And for a moment, Shane can feel an ache in his own chest. 

He looks away for a second, the cloud of thoughts disintegrating. He grabs the vibrator, almost lost in the sea of crumpled sheets. "Want me to try this out, h-huh?" he asks, voice hoarse from every groan and whimper he forced out of himself. 

Ryan doesn't keep him waiting for an answer too long, whining in response. Shane can see his leg bouncing with impatience and arousal and his own hunger makes itself known. 

"I didn't catch that, what was that again?" he asks, using the last, torn up bits of composure left inside of himself to form a sentence. It's worth the effort, because Ryan cries out and tries to reply, though all that comes out is a stream of incoherent almost-words. 

Shane watches him with clouded eyes, can see him rubbing his thighs together and trembling, but he doesn't care anymore, doesn't scold him for any of it. All he wants is to see him desperate and be in charge of when he gets to unwind. 

He pulls one of his fingers out of himself to make space for the toy and presses the tip in with a groan, but retracts a second later. It feels cold and hard, too hard, too fake. It almost feels foolish to even think about putting it in, though the ways in which the vibrations could possibly affect him seem tempting. Deep inside, he knows that's not what he's truly after. He might risk not getting his point across, but he backs out anyway. He pulls his fingers out with a groan, feeling empty and unsatisfied. 

He manages to kick his shoes off and pull his pants off to avoid tripping over them when he pushes himself up and rushes over to the other side of the room, hastily untying the shirt he had previously used on Ryan, then moving onto the belt. Ryan gets up faster than Shane could register, startling him with a tight embrace. 

When he finally lets go, his hands are still holding tightly onto his shirt. "Holy shit, Shane," he huffs out, almost out of breath and face completely flushed. They both stare at each other maniacally for a moment, trying to calm down. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry for all of this," Shane finally says. He feels hot and cold at the same time, arousal and shame both swirling inside his body and mind. He's lost at sea, not knowing whether to beg Ryan to let him continue or apologize for acting a fool. 

Ryan exhales heavily and mumbles, "I'm sorry I made you feel awful earlier." 

"Now I feel awful for making you sit through all of this." 

"Then we're even, I guess." There's a pause between Ryan's words which they both use to eye each other, head to toe, at different paces. "Should we keep going?" 

Shane nods. "Yeah. That'd be great, yeah." 

With that, Ryan is no longer gripping his shirt, but pushing at his chest instead to get him back on the bed. Shane plops down with no complaints, narrowly missing the bottle of lube he abandoned in the sheets earlier, quickly forgetting it now that Ryan is crawling into his lap and making himself comfortable there. Shane begins tugging at Ryan's boxers and soon enough, they are both exposed and vulnerable to a degree, silently devouring what's bare with their eyes. 

For a moment, time slows down for them, the world holds its breath, and so do the both of them. Ryan is trembling, and Shane starts pulling at his shirt to take it off for him. It gets stuck in the middle and Ryan is giggling from under the pesky fabric. Shane rolls his eyes. 

He is achingly hard at this point and hopes Ryan is still just as desperate as him to feel something, anything at all. With Shane's mind still blurry from earlier, Ryan uses the opportunity to take the lead, inching himself just a little closer to press their dicks together with his hand, and Shane hisses through his gritted teeth. Ryan gives their cocks a couple of slow, exaggerated strokes, doing the best he can with the two of them in his hand at once and the sizes not quite the same. He bucks his hips and thrusts into his own grip, letting out a quiet, keening sound upon finally being touched. The noise reverberates through Shane's head and he doesn't realize when he responds with a moan of his own. 

Ryan's grip is a little too loose for his taste, his strokes sloppy with how far gone he is, but Shane is still shaking with how good it feels to have Ryan's soft, warm hand around his dick. He begins thrusting at his own pace, their cocks rubbing against one another desperately. He can feel Ryan's cock twitching and knows he won't last long, his eyes unscrewing to take a look. 

It's an obscene sight. There is nothing not messy about the rhythm of their thrusts completely missing each other yet working perfectly. The way the tip of Ryan's cock is glistening with the precome that had collected there and is now threatening to drip down his shaft, makes something in his chest ache. It's a good type of ache this time, it's the type of ache that makes Shane want to pull Ryan closer and guide him until his own dick is deep inside of him, but he knows both of them are too impatient for this. 

At this point, all he can do is push Ryan's hand out of the way to replace it with his own, dainty fingers curling around their dicks, Ryan's dick, desperately hard and finally in Shane's grip. The difference in technique is striking, Shane's strokes much more intense and unforgiving. Ryan's back is arching with overwhelming pleasure, throat exposed in a way that almost makes Shane think of an artist's work. 

He twists his hand and squeezes a little harder near the heads of their dicks and Ryan cries out, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, which doesn't go unnoticed. Shane lets out a satisfied grunt, seeing him hovering on the edge of discomfort even before coming. 

"Fuck," Ryan hisses, his mouth hanging open. His thrusts are getting more and more erratic the longer Shane is jerking them off, and neither of them have any sort of rhythm anymore. Shane can barely keep a steady hand around their dicks anymore, but that's okay. It's all more than okay and he doesn't care anymore. 

Ryan snaps first and somehow still manages to catch Shane off guard with how loud he cries out when he finally reaches his orgasm, coming in thick drops all over his own hand and Shane's shirt. He's shaking and desperately trying to chase his high, whimpering, teeth sunken into his bottom lip. The longer Shane is moving his hand, the more overwhelming and painful it gets, but he keeps going until Shane joins him in his bliss. 

His orgasm hits him harder than it has in a long time, and has him bucking helplessly into his own loose fist and panting loudly. 

Recollecting his thoughts isn't easy when his brain is scattered and body reduced to tissue with no bones to support it. All he can do is lean back, hope Ryan doesn't feel neglected, and let himself rest his head against something soft at last. Thankfully, Ryan doesn't seem offended by the lack of ceremonial conclusion to everything that just happened, and simply lies down at Shane's side. 

"I think," Shane begins, his voice cracking, and he pauses to clear his throat. Ryan's eyes are already glued to him. "I think I really needed this." 

Ryan scoffs, glancing at the stained ceiling above them. "Yeah, I can tell." 

Silence slithers between the two of them and makes itself comfortable, as it tends to at times. For the first time this day, it doesn't feel awkward or threatening, like a knife against the throat. It feels peaceful, almost. And it seems like silence may have replaced the tension from earlier. 

Shane turns to his side. His body is completely exhausted, but even though the slight discomfort is getting in the way of his rest, he's thankful for his headache finally being gone. He takes the risk of feeling even more uncomfortable and looks Ryan in the eyes. "I'm sorry. Things got out of hand." 

Ryan's face lights up with what Shane thinks is an unnecessary smile. "Hey, just talk to me sometimes, alright? I care about you, big guy," he says, poking Shane's arm. "If there's something in that big noggin of yours that needs out, let me know. I know I can be a pain in the ass." 

Shane sighs. "You're not- man, today was just not my day. Usually, I enjoy seeing you pee your pants over your little beatbox device acting crazy." 

The smile from earlier is immediately washed off Ryan's face and Shane is already laughing. "How dare you," Ryan says in a serious tone which Shane knows so well that it doesn't help much. 

This time, Ryan is the one switching positions, making himself comfortable on his back, one hand tucked under his head and the other almost touching Shane's. 

Shane is not the type to interrupt silence just for the sake of it, believing it happens for a reason. He lets Ryan piece together his thoughts into something that makes sense. 

Ryan speaks up again. "If, uh. If that question from earlier still stands, then no. This is not the only one." He pauses. "And you should actually try one out someday." 

Shane exhales through his nose, raucous laugh slowly making its way out. He flicks Ryan's hand and gets an "ow" in response. "Don't even think about it," he says. 

Even though his head is no longer threatening to kill him with how much it's aching, it's still throwing random thoughts his way. He wonders if Ryan will ever think that this is too much, that the strange relationship they have built on the foundations of abandoned and haunted buildings will no longer fire him up one day. 

But for now, what they have is good. Strange and flawed, honest and messy. And Shane wants to believe that it will only get better.


End file.
